


The Loss of Potential (a future crumbled to ash)

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Tobirama makes a choice, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: He shouldn’t have gone to intervene. He’s a shinobi and his mission must always come first, even at needless loss. But all he can see, all he can sense from this distanance is the blaze of a group of adults moving shinobi quick through the trees and just ahead of them, the faint, candle flame of a child, running away, running for their life.He can’t turn away, not in this moment.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama & Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Izuna & Uchiha Madara
Comments: 7
Kudos: 107





	The Loss of Potential (a future crumbled to ash)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Spark of Grief (the flashfire of change)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352747) by [Reiya_Wakayama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama). 



> This idea came to me suddenly and I spent a few hours knocking it out. What happens when suddenly, you can't call your enemy monster anymore?
> 
> Also: Tobirama is around 15 at the start of the fic.
> 
> Edit: the companion fic is up for this: A Spark of Grief (the flashfire of change)- a Madara POV of these events.

He stares dispassionately as the last enemy shinobi falls, breathe gurgling as blood wells up out of the slit in his throat, eyes wide as he slowly drowns and exsanguinates in front of him. Not even blinking, he wipes his kunai off on the man’s shirt, stowing it away before turning.

The clearing is destroyed. Weapon litter the ground and surrounding trees, scorch marks from Katon blasts and churned earth from Doton give evidence to the fight. Over everything, water slowly soaks into the parched ground, washing away the blood. Only the center of clearing remains untouched…except for the small body penned to the ground, a ninjato protruding from their form, like a butterfly pinned for display.

He steps silently closer and the small figure, the girl, whimpers and he jolts to a stop. She’s afraid of him. He just killed those that were after her and still she fears him, eyes wide and wet with tears, blood spattered across her face. Bright red eyes, dark tomoe swirling in them, stare at him like he is the demon people call him.

He pushes closer and she trembles. “Shh, it alright,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over her form. The blade is sunk deep into her lower abdomen. A gut wound like this, she won’t recover and it’s a horrible way to go.

She whimpers, but this time in pain, eyes closing as her body shakes, shock starting to set in and he kneels next to her, uncaring that her blood is slowly soaking his knees. “Shh, breath through it,” he murmurs and she flinches when he reaches out to her, but he doesn’t stop, simply clasps her cooling hand in his. Her whole form is cooling as the hot blood of her body seeps into the leaf litter underneath her. She won’t last much longer.

She had potential, a future, and now it’s gone. He’s a shinobi, he knows death, has been the cause of many lost lives, but…something about the death of a child feels…wasteful. She can’t be older than ten. He blinks and all he can see is Itama and Kawarama’s faces over laying her face. His hand clenches around hers tightly but she doesn’t protest.

“I…I’m scared,” she whispers, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.

“It’s alright to be scared,” he assures her, reaching up slowly to bush back her dark locks, a parody of a caring gesture…from one who should be her enemy.

“I want my mother and father,” her breath hitches, more tears leaking down the side of her face, leaving clean trails through the blood and dirt smeared on her face.

“I know,” his throat is suspiciously tight and he forces through it. His feelings are not important, only comforting the child in front of him. He is the master of his emotions and he won’t let them interfere. Later…when he’s alone, when he’s not holding her hand…he’ll let them out, ride the waves and come out the other side. For now, he locks them away. They call him emotionless, ice hearted, but he can’t afford the luxury of emotions in battle, not when lives depend on him.

“I…I’m sorry,” he whispers, her breaths coming in gasps now. “I…if I knew more, I would try to help,” he admits guiltily, the words treasonous but true. He doesn’t know enough medical ninjutsu to do anything except speed her along to the Pure Lands.

Her small hand clutches his tightly, strength nearly gone. He forces himself to watch, to sense as slowly, second by second, the life bleeds from her from. Finally, as the last speck of life dies, her red eyes fade back to black. They were her body’s last effort to survive, to escape but no matter how extraordinary the Uchiha’s doujutsu is, a child is still a child. She never stood a chance.

He stares at her sightless eyes and can only see Itama and Kawarama, staring up at him accusingly.

_To slow again…always too slow, never fast enough…_

How can anyone be faster than death? How many times must he be forced to relive this lesson? Slowly, hands steady despite his swirling thoughts; he reaches up and slowly lowers her eyelids with one hand, the other relinquishing his grip on her hand, laying her arms across her chest. It’s a last, small measure of dignity for one who died too soon.

_Too slow…_

Sucking in a slow breath, he ignores the faint ache in his throat and looks up…right into Uchiha Madara’s eyes. It’s instinctive to look away, to jump back across the clearing, putting space between him and, he realizes, Uchiha Izuna.

Strangely, they don’t pursue. A stilted silence hangs over the clearing, neither willing to move to break the silence. Eventually, Izuna makes the first move. They’ve faced each other multiple times on the battle field. Rivals like Hashirama and Madara, equals, enemies.

He steps forward, “Did you do this Senju?” he growls lowly, hands fisted and shaking. His chakra surges like a raging inferno to his senses and he can’t help but flinch back, one small conceding movement, but…he feels so raw right now, bisected and flayed wide open and those eyes, those damn eyes that see all must surely see this, must sense his disquiet, his center thrown off.

But it’s not Izuna who notices, too wrapped up in his own righteous indignation at his supposed attack, despite the evidence and the multiple bodies of the Fuuma Clan that litter the clearing. It’s Madara, eyes tracking every movement, every micro expression and flicker of his eyes, the faint fluctuation of his charka, the slight inability to keep it smooth and contained, spiking with each beat of his heart, each second he remains here…

“Izuna,” he murmurs, drawing his brother up short and he turns, anger making his chakra snap even harder and then he stills, seeming to see something in his brother’s gaze and his shoulders sag.

Seeing an opening, he slips back, putting more space between them, never turning his back. _Enemy_ his mind warns. They are not a wounded child dying on a cruel battle field. They are fully fledged, battle hardened shinobi and won’t hesitate to take any weakness.

“Why?” Madara asks, voice carrying in the silence and he freezes.

Why indeed? She was an enemy. He is in the middle of a mission and it was an unnecessary risk he took in killing those that were after her. He’d overheard them, knows what they planned. Bloodline thieves wouldn’t dare go after an adult, not unless they could guarantee a win. But a child…a child is easy prey...so easy to kill, to snuff out their life like blowing on a candle.

“I wasn’t fast enough to save my brothers,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper but they still hear him, watching silently. “They died, alone and afraid, far from home, surrounded by their killers. I…I couldn’t…I wasn’t fast enough,” he explains and apologizes at the same time and then whirls away, disappearing in a shunshin before they can do anything.

~*~

He slides the door closed behind him and lets out a silent breath before pushing aside his swirling thoughts. His mission is done, the scroll handed off to the Uzushio contact and their acceptance of the Uzumaki’s offer of a marriage alliance is now on its way. He can relax now…but he can’t.

His head is purposefully blank. He really should take a bath, wash the dirt and blood from his body but…

His feet move unconsciously from the door to his father’s study. Butsuma was satisfied with his explanation of encountering a Fuuma patrol on the way home and having to deal with it. He made no mention of why he encountered them and his father never asked. A small lie, a small betrayal but he can live with it. It isn’t the first time he’s omitted something from his reports and he doubts it will be the last.

He looks up towards the sky as he steps down from the engawa, noting the streaks of color. Dawn paints the clouds in the fires of its light. Turning away, his feet carry him to a section of their compound he rarely goes to.

The silence hangs thickly over the headstones, each carved with a name. So many of the stones are new and the weather has barely touched the stone. They’ve lost so many in the last decade, in the last few years. They’ve lost so many; he has lost so many…

He finds them in a secluded section for the main family. Kneeling down, he bows his head, offering a silent prayer to the two headstones in front of him.

_Senju Kawarama…Senju Itama…_

They were so young…too young. He should have been there; they should have never been there in the first place. He’s never hated Butsuma more than he does in this moment. They were his responsibility and he threw them away, would have thrown him and Hashirama away if it meant getting an advantage on their enemy…on the Uchiha.

Taking a breath, he pushes the thoughts and feelings down and locks them away. He can’t let them control him. He must be in control because lives depend on him. He’s failed three times now. That’s three times too many. He can’t fail again.

“Tobirama, there you are,” Hashirama calls, walking towards him. “Father said you had returned…” he pauses, staring at him, eyes taking in every little detail, “What happened?” he asks softly.

“It’s nothing,” he lies. It seems to be a theme today.

“You’re upset,” Hashirama says gently.

“I’m fine,” he insists, turning away from his brother to give one last bow of his head to the graves in respect before standing.

“Are you okay?” Hashirama demands quietly. He should be annoyed by his brother’s demands but…Hashirama has known him since he was born, helped raise him, taught him and learned beside him. They have fought together in so many battles, always watching each other’s backs. He was there before and after their deaths. He _knows_.

“I was just reminded,” he admits softly, giving the graves one last look before stepping away, forcing his brother to follow after he gives his own bow to their brothers’ graves.

Hashirama doesn’t say anything. What can he say? Their brothers are dead and they live. Maybe it is luck or destiny or just coincidence that they are here instead of them. It doesn’t matter though because they are _gone._

They’re silent as they grab breakfast together, each lost in their thoughts, remembering and planning. Finally, he speaks up. “Anija,” he calls, drawing his brother from his thoughts. “I…is Butsuma still ordering the child killing?” he asks quietly.

Understanding dawns on his brother’s face and his expression grows grim. “Yes,” he admits, hands fisting in his lap.

“We need to stop it,” he insists. He can kill, has killed, when ordered, but…he can’t, won’t kill a child. His hands are already bloody but he doesn’t think he could bear to have a child’s blood on them. It’s illogical, foolish, because why would a child’s blood be worse than an adult’s? What makes them so different? Blood is blood, life and death the same no matter the age. But…the girl’s face flashes through his mind…Itama and Kawarama as well…he can’t divorce his feelings from it, no matter how hard he tries.

“Butsuma and the elders won’t listen to reason. I’ve tried,” he reminds him.

“Then we don’t go to them. We go to the ones who will be ordered to kill them. We convince them to stop,” he reasons.

“You want them to ignore the Clan Head’s orders?” he asks, surprised.

“They will, I know they will. More and more, they look to you and not Butsuma on the battle field. He won’t be Clan Head forever. You are the future and we need to try at least. Even if we can’t convince all of them, we can stop most of them,” he explains.

“You understand that this is treason, right? If even one of them goes to Butsuma, we could be branded traitors,” Hashirama reminds him mildly but he’s not saying no.

“Like you saving Madara?” he points out and his brother nods in capitulation of the point.

“Still, this is not like you. Usually, you’re against my plans for peace,” Hashirama says with a frown.

 _“I’m not against peace,”_ he grits out and looks away to school his features once more before turning back, “I’m just realistic. Too much blood has been shed between us to be so easily forgiven or forgotten. But…," he pauses, "you want to make peace with them, but how can we in good conscious ask them to accept peace if we didn’t even try to save their children?” he finally asks, looking at his brother.

“Just because we stop, doesn’t mean they will?” Hashirama shoots back, voice still mild and it gets under his skin.

“Then we stop sending the younger ones to the frontline. Butsuma is insistent that everyone fights but…maybe if we delegate them to helping the healers. It would keep them out of direct fire and the Uchiha wouldn’t dare attack our healers, not unless they want us to start taking out theirs as well. They would lose more people to their injuries if we did,” he slowly lays out his thoughts, mind jumping from one thought to the next. “Maybe start them on learning healing techniques. They can heal themselves and help others and…,” he pauses, finally noticing Hashirama’s shaking shoulders. “You’re laughing.”

“I agree with you,” he assures, but can’t quite stop the chuckles.

“Anija, why are you laughing?” he demands irritably, frowning at his brother.

“Because you’ve thought of everything and we haven’t even tried anything yet,” he huffs.

“At least I actually plan things out,” he mutters, flushing high on his cheeks.

“No, no, I’m glad,” he finally manages to stop laughing and reaches out to grip his hands. “You reminded me of just why I need you by my side. I’m a dreamer and you help keep me grounded. With my drive and your plans, we could change the world. I never expected peace to be easy or quick. It will take years. There will be misunderstandings and pain, but peace, my village, is the goal, not the plan. I need your help to get there. To convince Madara, Izuna, and the Uchiha Clan as a whole, our clan and even any other clans that might be interested that peace is worth it, if our children no longer have to fight, no longer have to die for their ancestors’ wars. We didn’t start this war, but we pay for it anyways. Isn’t it time we decided how to end it?” he asks softly, imploringly.

He can’t figure out what to say, so he doesn’t, simply looks at his brother, so confident in his vision, determined to bring peace. Hashirama just smiles at him knowingly, probably already aware of his agreement. Letting his hands go, they go back to their breakfast, eating in silence but this time, it feels…hopeful.

~*~

He’s failed too many times over his short life. Never fast enough, always one step behind death’s relentless charge. But, he hasn’t stopped trying. He creates jutsus and seals, studies medical ninjutsu to never be unable to help someone again. He and his brother work hard, slowly turning the clan around to their ideas of peace, some with logic, others sentiment and others through force or threat. They know Hashirama is next in line and won’t always be protected from him by Butsuma’s iron hold on the clan.

One jutsu in particular has been driving him forward, constantly working on it, refining it. It needs to be perfect, needs to do something very specific for him. It was originally an idea set aside for others at one point, more theoretical thought than an actual jutsu: a desire to be fast, fast enough that even the Sharingan couldn’t follow. Now, he plans to use it for something more.

The years have passed as he worked at it. Butsuma, as if sensing the clan’s divided loyalties, and seeing the threat that his sons have become to his position, presses more and more at the Uchiha, throwing his sons and their clan into battle after battle. His sanity isn’t helped by Uchiha Tajima’s death from an infected wound or Madara’s ascension to Clan Head.

This battle is just like the last: pointless and costly. Neither side is gaining ground, despite Madara and Hashirama’s power. They’re further down the stretch of field, space cleared for their battle, no one willing to get in-between their staggering abilities.

He’s facing off as usual against Izuna, blades singing with each clash, neither able to get the upper hand. He could if he wanted to, the kunai with his seal on it rests heavily in his pouch, a temptation…but no, he needs it, just in case. He’s only brought the one, though now he realizes he should have made more.

His attention, as usual, is divided, part of him following the flow of the battle, keeping tabs on all the key players. He should have realized that without Tajima to check him, Butsuma would go on a rampage. They should have planned for this moment.

There’s a cry from a child’s throat, a blaze of vindictive triumph from Butsuma and he shifts slightly, parrying a blow as he looks and sees a young Uchiha boy, maybe twelve...thirteen, caught between Butsuma and a large boulder. He spies the medic symbol on his clothes, the Uchiha, having seen their strategy, had been quick to copy it, not that they were against it.

Izuna lunges and in that moment, there is no time to think, no time to at all. He has a choice, a fork in the road where he must choose. He could easily move, the kunai is already in his hand, ready to throw. It would be but an instant. But…

He does the one thing he has never done in his battles with Izuna: he turns away, kunai already leaving his hand before the man’s blade sinks home. His breath is forced from his lungs as he staggers a step under the force of the blow, but he’s already moving. Izuna, more in shock rather than deliberately, pulls his blade free and he’s already making the seals and in a flash of light, is gone.

A second, not even enough time to take a ragged, wet breath, and he appears between Butsuma and the boy, blades screeching as they clash. Butsuma stills, shock on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he growls, eyes wide in rage.

Gritting his teeth against the pain of his wound, he shoves him back a step, settling into a better stance, keeping the boy at his back. “No more,” he huff out. The world around him has gone suddenly quiet but he can’t turn to look or else his father will finish what Izuna started.

“Either kill the boy, or stand aside,” he orders, anger like a blow to his chest, his chakra lashing out in his senses.

“He’s a medic,” he tries to reason, hoping his father will listen to him, just this once. He doesn’t want to do this, to choose, but if he has to, he will.

“He is our enemy,” Butsuma snarls, sword lashing out and he parries it aside.

“If you kill him, you leave our own medics to their mercy. They’re not fighters,” he reasons again, panting heavily.

“Either his blood will spill or yours will for this treason,” he rages, striking again and he parries once more. He can feel his strength bleeding away with each second, his front hot with the blood coursing from the wound in his gut. It seems almost kismet that he follows in that child’s footsteps from so many years ago.

“Tobirama!” Hashirama yells, too far away, not fast enough.

“No,” he answers and firms his stance, already bracing for the end.

The first blow he blocks, the second is barely knocked off its course, its edge scouring his shoulder. The pain is a distraction he pushes through, knocking aside the next and the next, but his reactions are slowing. He’s fast, faster than his father has ever been but he can’t fight while bleeding out for long.

He knocks another blow aside and grunts as pain sears in his stomach and it is an opening, enough of a distraction and he sees the blade coming and braces for the end.

A shaft of wood shoots from the ground, catching Butsuma in the chest and knocking him back a good fifteen feet, the man twisting in the air to land heavily, clutching his chest where he most definitely has some broken ribs.

“Tobirama, enough,” Hashirama orders and places a hand on his shoulder to help him straighten. “As eldest, this is my fight.”

“Anija,” he hisses, clutching his stomach.

“Rest,” he orders and then turns with a grim frown towards their father.

“You will do as you are ordered,” Butsuma growls, standing.

“No more children,” he says softly and clearly.

“Then you are weak,” Butsuma scoffs.

“If I’m so weak, why do you fear me, father?” Hashirama asks conversationally, stepping forward and Butsuma takes a step back before he glares and holds his ground. “I had hoped you would at least see reason on this.”

“They are the enemy, no matter what age they are. To show them mercy now is to allow them to stab you in the back later on,” he growls out.

“Maybe, but I won’t become a child hunter for you,” Hashirama declares. Butsuma, with a yell, surges towards Hashirama, the two clashing but he can’t keep focused on them. His vision darkens alarmingly and he sways, falling to a knee, gasping for breath.

It takes a long second to notice the faint green glow through his darkening vision and with a will, he focuses enough to look up to see the boy he protected with his hands out, lip clenched between his teeth as he concentrates, trying to heal him. “Stop,” he mutters softly.

The boy startles but doesn’t stop. “I’m your enemy,” he insists, weakly shoving at his hands to force him to stop. Why won’t he stop? He can’t focus enough to figure it out, thoughts like the water he calls so easily, slipping from his grasp any time he tries to grab them.

“I don’t care,” the boy insists and keeps going. A second glow enters his vision and he looks to see a second child, a girl, one of their own medic children is seated next to the boy, her own healing aiding him.

He sways and lists against a warm form and with effort, he looks up to see Hashirama’s worried frown looking down at him. He would look for Butsuma’s body if he could but it took everything just to look at Hashirama. He’s saying something, lips moving but his ears are ringing so loudly and he can’t focus enough to read them. He feels cold. He’s always run cooler, but now, he’s freezing, fingers going numb.

He blinks slowly, once, twice…darkness…

~*~

 _I’m alive_ is the first thought to float through his head as he comes to consciousness. _Why_ is the second.

With a will, he forces lead weighted eyelids to peel back, wincing at the light shining through the window. He’s in his room. The windows face westward, which means it’s in the afternoon. How long has he been out?

“Three days,” someone says above him and with effort, he looks up to see Hashirama seated beside him, a chubudai next to him with a pile of scrolls on it. His hands are spattered with ink. For some reason, he finds that the strangest of all. “I figured that was what you wanted to ask,” he explains to the question in his expression.

“Water?” he asks hopefully, suddenly aware of how thirsty he is, his voice husky.

Hashirama reaches out of his view and he listens to the clink of clay on clay as he pours some water into a cup for him. A warm, broad hand cups the back of his head and helps lift him so he can drink greedily from the cup. He hasn’t felt this weak in a long time. He hates it.

Hashirama lowers him back down onto to his futon. “What happened?” he asks the most pressing question.

“Butsuma is dead,” Hashirama says in a flat tone, eyes hard. That he knew, remembered seeing Hashirama standing over him which could only mean their father was dead or too incapacitated to retaliate, which amounts to death usually as there isn’t much that can stop a shinobi out for blood.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, though he’s not sure for what. For forcing Hashirama’s hand? Maybe. For their father’s death? Probably not. There’s isn’t much love lost between them. There hasn’t been for a long time.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but the hardness softens and his smile is a little melancholic. His brother is ever the optimistic fool and he’d always hoped their father might see reason. Hashirama’s expression brightens though and he continues, “Due to the events of before, there is an official ceasefire between the Senju and the Uchiha.”

“They agreed to that?” he asks, shocked.

“Madara suggested it,” he informs his brother. “To give each side time to heal and…discuss the future, as he put it,” he’s grinning now.

“Their Elders will never go for peace,” he insists.

“Who knows? This is the first ceasefire between our clans in at least three generations. It’s definitely a step in the right direction and it helps that a lot of Uchiha saw you protect one of their own against Butsuma,” he adds.

“It was logical,” he brushes it off.

“Logical or not, you still did it. It at least made them take notice. It shows that if we can change, the rest of the clan can and…maybe it doesn’t excuse the deaths on either side, but it might mean that there aren’t more in the future,” he hums softly, patting his arm.

“Ever the optimist,” he grumbles, but there’s no bite and Hashirama knows what he means.

“I’m going to tell Mito and Touka that you’re up and then I’m off to the river again. Hopefully Madara will be there today and we can finally talk about peace again,” he enthuses happily.

“Maybe tone it down a little,” he advices and Hashirama laughs like he hasn’t in a long time.

“He should be used to this from me by now after all the time we spent together as children,” he says in amusement. “I’ll tell him you said hi,” he calls and steps out before he can yell at him to do no such thing.

He looks around and finds his Hiraishin kunai lying on the chubudai. He hadn’t noticed it before when Hashirama had been blocking it with his body. He smiles, just a little.

He was on time, finally.

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> This was my attempt at a subtle canon change. I might do a second fic that follows along the same way, but from either Madara or Izuna's POV. We'll see.


End file.
